


They Say It's Taylor's Birthday Sherlock Porn Series

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Age Difference, Age Play, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Authority Figures, Begging, Bigender Character, Daddy Kink, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Finger Sucking, Gunplay, Humiliation, Inspection, Lingerie, M/M, Medical Play, Military Kink, Police, Rape Roleplay, Rape/Non-con Elements, Roleplay, Self-cest, Sex Magic, Shoe Kink, Sibling Incest, Sugar Daddy, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Uniforms, Watersports
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 21:04:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1702472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, taylorpotato did a Tumblr request for birthday porn yesterday, and I noticed that Taylor requested a bunch of awesome Sherlock pairings and also that Taylor has given us a lot of awesome Sherlock porn that tends to conform quite neatly to my own kinks. Obviously, I should reward this awesome by writing a series of porny ficlets for each of Taylor's pairing requests for Taylor's birthday. I missed the actual birthday because real live human member of poly family was here yesterday, but I'm going to start posting tonight and hopefully can finish these within the next couple of days. We'll just call it a happy birthday week!</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. The Best Laid Fucked-Up Experiments of Mice and Magic Users...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taylorpotato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylorpotato/gifts).



> So, taylorpotato did a Tumblr request for birthday porn yesterday, and I noticed that Taylor requested a bunch of awesome Sherlock pairings and also that Taylor has given us a lot of awesome Sherlock porn that tends to conform quite neatly to my own kinks. Obviously, I should reward this awesome by writing a series of porny ficlets for each of Taylor's pairing requests for Taylor's birthday. I missed the actual birthday because real live human member of poly family was here yesterday, but I'm going to start posting tonight and hopefully can finish these within the next couple of days. We'll just call it a happy birthday week!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a slight AU where some people are magic-users, Sherlock has about as much care for the safety of magical experiments as for scientific ones. Obviously, magical cloning is a good plan. (Set post-Reichenbach when Sherlock is living alone.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only warning for this chapter, really, is SCIENCE.

It's highly experimental magic. Sherlock knows this, and predictably doesn't care. He's always gone off the books when it comes to his magic, despite Mycroft's and later John's protests, and so no one will be surprised when they meet the doppelgänger currently standing in Sherlock's kitchen. Still, it may present some... complications.

The other Sherlock smirks at him, rounding his counterpart in a slow circle. "Fascinating," is the first word Sherlock's creation breathes. They are dressed identically, physically indistinguishable, but the new Sherlock quickly undoes the top three buttons of the purple shirt for comfort and then removes his shoes. 

"What do you remember?" Sherlock asks, quickly. He wasn't one-hundred percent sure what the doubling would reveal--a clone with all of Sherlock's memories? A blank slate?

"Nothing of your life," the other man says, stopping his circle to assess himself. "I know that I am Sherlock Holmes. I have a very good guess as to the procedure you used to create me. I have my magic." He opens a hand and an orange flame flares up in his palm, then is quickly snuffed. "I know my own personality but... I cannot  _remember_  anything before this moment, precisely." He frowns. Obviously the idea bothers him. "There are trials to conduct..."

" _Yes_ ," Sherlock agrees, pleased that this new version of himself understands him so well, will not have to be coaxed or prodded into anything. His eyes light up, but then his twin's eyes flash down his body--deducing?--and the man continues.

"...later."

"Later? But we have so  _much_  to..." Sherlock is cut off, abruptly, when his back hits the refrigerator. Is his doppelgänger violent? Sherlock responds to the move, and they're fighting, now, but perfectly matched, both equally handicapped by the desire not to upset any of the equipment on the table. Eventually, the new version of himself catches Sherlock off guard with a hand lifted his over his head, pressed into a high cabinet, and not!Sherlock's lips against his. Sherlock squeaks. It's undignified, but there is no other response.

"I know what you  _like_ ," his experiment purrs as if he's just realized it, and without Sherlock's memories he can't know how that sentence triggers Sherlock and throws him back to Irene, but it does keep Sherlock from fighting anymore.

"Really?" Sherlock whispers. "Sex?"

"You're unimpressed." The man who is not him smirks. "You want me to  _think_  that you are unimpressed. But how alike we are, Sherlock Holmes," the clone murmurs, and then presses down on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock isn't sure why he kneels. He should be afraid, probably. He has a vague recollection that science fiction would warn him off of this, but Sherlock has deleted science fiction, and John isn't here. The doppelgänger's fingers press to his lips and Sherlock opens his mouth. He almost leaves his own brain, retreats into some other place, when the new man smirks and purrs a sentence that feels both foreign and natural.

"Good girl..."

This  _not_  him knows too much. But they are alone, and the familiar fingers are warm and insistent in his-- _her_ \--mouth. Sherlock has never been able to just set aside the years of lies and hiding and abuse, has never been able to say yes to her own self-concept, but suddenly she has a thing she  _cannot have_ , and she's too greedy to turn it down. She closes her eyes, tries not to drown, and sucks. Her other self caresses her cheek, and tells her that she is so good at it, that her other self  _knows_. She scrapes violin calluses with her teeth and lets herself go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're curious, the Sherlock in this story is a trans woman, rather than someone who has a kink for genderplay or something else. She's kinky and trans, and those things are separate, but happen to both come up here. She's obviously highly closeted about the trans bit, and probably about both.


	2. Daddy's Little Prince(ss)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snippet from Sherlock and Moriarty's first sexual encounter. Jim has just figured out something very personal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes rather dirty words, Daddy kink, gender fluidity/a bigender little, and mild knifeplay.

"You have managed to trick me on one point, Sherlock," Jim coos, stroking Sherlock's jaw. "You should be impressed with yourself."

Sherlock's a little off-kilter, having his kink discovered by his so-called nemesis, being on his knees and quite clearly not wanting to leave. John would kill him. But still he nods, cocking his head up. "Which point?"

"Are you Daddy's little boy?" Jim asks, lips quirking into a smile, fingers holding Sherlock's chin up so he can't turn his head away. "Or Daddy's little girl?"

"Both," Sherlock breathes, vulnerability hitting him like an anvil in the chest.  _Why_  did he say that? But Jim looks pleased.

"At the same time?" Sherlock nods quickly.

"Do you want Daddy to fuck your boypussy then, princess?" Sherlock convulses. It's too violent to describe as a shiver. Jim grips his throat like a vice.

"Be  _very_  good then, Sherlock. Daddy likes it rough. Sometimes rougher than little girls expect." He flicks a knife open against Sherlock's neck, precise, the tip landing right against the skin. Sherlock whimpers without meaning to.

"Rougher than we  _like_?" Sherlock asks, and Jim grins.

"Nooo," he purrs low, dragging the tip of the knife down across his clavicle, leaving a white line that only beads red in places after a moment. "That would be very hard to do, wouldn't it, Sherlock? Rougher than  _my_ boy likes would be a challenge." Sherlock stares at the floor. "God, you are going to  _suck_  Daddy's cock like a dummy," Jim promises. Sherlock just smiles.


	3. Bad Boys, Bad Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting ready for a dirty copper scene, Greg remarks on his luck.

Greg adjusts himself and checks his gear, standing outside the cell. It's not a jail; Greg has never used this cell to lock someone up. It's in a facility that he doesn't get to know exists after this night, arranged by Mycroft, which is just _weird_. He hopes there are no hidden cameras. But Greg decided not to ask questions after his absolutely singular boyfriend let him know that his brother had secured a very secret place for them to play out a scene they've both talked about several times, cocks in their hands, biting more than kissing. The scene itself is something Greg's less sure of, this being his job, but he also hasn't been a bobby on the beat in years, and he can't deny the desire to force Sherlock to his knees and make him submit to an authority confirmed by uniform and police baton. They're both switches, but when Greg tops, Sherlock has a tendency to make him think dirtier, to get him to _take_ more than he would normally try for with a partner. For this fantasy, that means one end of the baton in Sherlock's mouth, Sherlock's mouth on his shiny shoes at some point, perhaps. Sherlock's only encouraged his ideas, dreaming up imagined deviance he might be arrested for, reasons for the corrupt sergeant to go a little too rough on him. Greg bloody loves the kid.

There's a bang against the one-way glass, and Greg jumps. Sherlock is standing with his hands on his hips, looking cocky and annoyed. He's dressed for the part in sinfully tight jeans with holes in the knees, a leather jacket covered in spikes, tight black vest without sleeves. His boots are leather but dirty and half-laced. He looks like a good-for-nothing punk, eyes lined jet black, hair mussed. He looks like he needs a good fuck. Greg steels himself and steps inside, tapping the baton once against his palm and raising his eyebrows. Sherlock looks bored. This is going to be a good night.


	4. Give Me Some Sugar, Daddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those I'm going to hell PWPs. Established D/s relationship. Jim is basically Sebastian's sugar daddy and wants to play with Seb's guns; Sebastian does not want this. He has to convince him to indulge in some other kind of play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the warnings, pretty much. This story includes D/s, mentions of play that is neither SSC nor RACK, Daddy kink, watersports, talk of gunplay, humiliation play, and some poking at mental health issues.

" _No_ , boss," Sebastian breathes before he can stop himself. Jim's looking at his collection of antique sniper rifles with too much interest. He's settled on a model with a particularly long barrel, and strokes it a moment on the wall before he lifts the gun and swings it slow and controlled, as if caning an imaginary target. "Please," he amends. "Don't..."

"Don't defile your baby?" Jim teases, twirling the thing as if it's much lighter so that the barrel points up and stroking Seb's lips with the gunmetal taste of the flash suppressor. "But darling, every cent you've earned to purchase these is because of me. Every antique," he drawls, stepping in closer, voice low and dangerous in its casual nature, "every state of the art toy you own. I've been a very good sugar daddy to you, haven't I, tiger?"

"Yes, boss, but...  _please._ " Sebastian's panicking, because Jim will do it. Jim will hit him with his own gun, possibly damaging it. Jim will fuck with Sebastian's little compulsive tendencies, mess with his mental health because it gets Jim dick hard. As much as Sebastian loves protocol, Jim loves chaos. So fucked.

"Not convincing me, tiger." Jim steps back a pace and trails the barrel down Sebastian's chest, catching a shirt button and popping it intentionally. "Why shouldn't I use my pet as I like? Convince me."

"I..." Sebastian forces himself to push down the panic, to dull the roar and focus. He can do this. He's a sniper after all; he's good at tuning out distractions and focusing. He's the god-damned best. He focuses on Jim, focuses on what Jim likes. "Please, Daddy," he begs, keeping his voice in his natural low register but infusing it with something slightly broken. Jim loves broken. Other people might assume that his boss likes breaking people down, but Jim likes taking the already crushed, already vulnerable, and mucking around in the pieces. "Defile me instead. Hurt me. Let me debase myself for you. Humiliate me." This is a part of their game. Sebastian has his pride, humiliation genuinely pushes at his buttons in a way that isn't entirely safe, and Jim loves to do it. He normally holds himself back a bit, but Sebastian participating in his own demise will get Jim off like nothing else, Sebastian knows. More than splitting his skin, playing in his blood, doing all those fucked up things that to them are perfectly consensual, Jim likes to push at the edges that are personal, that are Sebastian's own. He grins slow and predatory.

"Is that what you want?" Jim asks, sing-song. "Is my little cockslut trading himself for his precious toys?"

Sebastian nods, his face a bit pouty, a bit younger, trying to convey sadness without looking utterly ridiculous. Even this, a forty-year-old man trying to affect childishness, makes his cheeks warm. Jim laughs, gleeful, and leans the gun up against the wall. "Bring me that chair," Jim orders, pointing to an armchair in the corner of Sebastian's own little den. Sebastian drags it over to where Jim is standing, putting it with the back just a few inches from the wall of rifles, and Jim sits. "Lick my shoes first."

This is an order that starts off easy, other than the discomfort of the hardwood floor on Sebastian's knees through thin trousers. If anyone knew of the nature of their relationship (which they don't; the few that have found out have been efficiently offed by Jim's word and Sebastian's hand), they might assume that this is entirely Jim's thing. The protocol, the power exchange, dominant and submissive, it's elegant enough to be a Moriarty-style kink. But Moriarty proper is not Jim at home, and in fact the D/s relationship is distinctly Sebastian's desire, something he's still surprised after seven years that he actually  _has_. Scary enough to almost risk bad decisions in the field, because Sebastian would do anything to keep James Moriarty safe. Jim knows it, and probably should care, but doesn't act. For his own part, Jim is chaotic, loving kink because it's taboo more than for any specific dynamic. He lets Sebastian fuck him, demands it really. He doesn't stand on ceremony. He likes blood and come and doing things that are listed as unjustifiable risks in books on the subject. He likes choking Sebastian on his cock and cutting him with glass. He gets so dark sometimes that Jim himself is buried far beneath the thundercloud, and Sebastian just has to pray for his life.

But tonight, Jim is stable, motivated. He watches intently as Sebastian keeps his tongue out when he's not gathering more saliva, bathing the leather of a pair of Oxfords worth thousands of pounds with spit. He uses less finesse than he would with previous lovers; for this he flattens his tongue and sticks it out as far as it will go, his chin pressing against its underside, getting saliva all over his face. He promised debasement, after all. Jim lifts his foot and makes Sebastian lick his sole, and now Sebastian's hands start twitching. It's not clean, though fortunately Jim hasn't stepped in anything particularly foul tonight. He thinks he tastes the copper of blood in one place. Jim just laughs and presses against Sebastian's cheeks with the sides of his feet.

"Pretty little shoe whore. Daddy's little slut. You pretend not to care as much as I do about expensive things, but look at all these long, hard, shiny guns, baby. Look at how much you like getting my Ferragamos on your tongue. Stick it out," he growls, and Sebastian quickly obeys again, kneeling there like a dog. Jim grins sharply and lets him suffer for a moment. "Greedy whore. I know you  _like_ expensive shoes on your face. Probably liked dirty boots on your face, too, to get promoted as far as you did. Greedy fucking whore." Saliva starts to drip from the corners of his mouth, though his tongue is dry. Jim pushes the sole of his shoe against Sebastian's extended tongue, still laughing. He makes Sebastian fellate the tip, and pushes the sole of his other shoe against Sebastian's cock. "Impress me, greedy bitch. Your brother's so smart, you need to make me believe that you're worth all your precious guns. Show Daddy how dirty your tongue is, or I'll make you crawl around naked on the street and give all your guns to Sherlock's puppy after I fuck that sloppy bitch through his heat with them. He's a crack shot, you know." 

Sebastian inhales sharply through his nose. He doesn't like this. Doesn't  _think_  he likes this? No, really doesn't, he corrects himself adamantly, even as he slobbers on Jim's shoes and rubs his face against the saliva, putting on a show even as it disgusts him. If Jim were anyone else, he could go fuck himself with his little fantasies about Seb and Sherlock as his two sons with the picket fence and John Watson as their guard dog-cum-fuck toy. Jim's brain is fucking weird, but Sebastian complies. He really doesn't want Jim to fuck with his guns. And John Watson sure as fuck can't have them.

Eventually, Jim takes his cock out, presumably for a blowjob, but then he kneels up on one knee and gives the gun leaning up against the wall an apprising look, aiming his cock at it and tilting his head to the side. Sebastian figures it out and goes full-on, panic, his chest tightening and his stomach turning. He dives for Jim's crotch, face exposed, rubbing it against his penis. 

"Piss on me Daddy, please,  _please,_  piss on me, I'll be a good boy like Sherlock, I'll dance for you, just piss on my face." He hates it. He's blushing like mad; he wants to crawl into a hole, but Jim buys it.

"You could never be good like Sherlock," Jim rebukes casually, but he turns his hips and yanks Seb back by the hair. His chest fucking  _burns_ , almost like a physical pain with the insult, but then Jim lets go and smiles at him like he's God's gift. "You can be good like you, though, piss-slut," Jim declares, and then starts the stream, on Sebastian's face first but quickly aiming down, soaking through the white dress-shirt, the pinstripe trousers, making him so wet that it looks like he's pissed  _himself_. " _Don't_  move," Jim warns, and he clearly really needed to relieve himself, because the stream is a steady pressure, spraying off Sebastian's skin onto the floor. It's disgusting to Sebastian, but he stays as he is, lips slightly parted, blinking up at Jim. "Daddy  _likes_  you, Sebby," Jim sings, the stream finally trailing off as Jim starts wanking himself off instead. "I like you all wet and defiled for me." Sebastian blushes and lowers his eyes. "You missed some." Jim nods to the floor, and Sebastian shuffles back on his knees, bending to lick up the cooling urine. At least now he gets to close his eyes.

Jim grunts and the sounds let Sebastian know he's jerking harder, turned on by the visual. He eventually shuffles forward to put his forehead on the floor in between Jim's feet, careful of his shoes, and finally feels the spurts of come on the dry part of his shirt covering his spine. Eventually, Jim lets him up, tugs his forehead dirty as he is to Jim's thigh, and he catches his breath.

"Good boy," Jim murmurs, signaling the end of the scene and a return to their standard space.

"Thank you Sir," Sebastian whispers, and blissfully closes his eyes.


End file.
